


Before I Sleep

by deepspaceprincess



Series: Frost [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Brock is an ass as always, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky is a baker, Bucky is coping well with his own PTSD, Hurt!Steve, M/M, Natasha owns a bakery, Pre-Slash, domestic abuse, it takes a backseat to Steve's issues, just the aftermath of it, not so much comfort here, only vaguely here, though it is not described in any detail here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepspaceprincess/pseuds/deepspaceprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes keeps to himself, he stays in his lane and doesn't toe any lines and that's how he likes to live his life. It keeps things simple. Clean. It's what he needs in his life after four years in the Army and a messy medical discharge. He drinks chamomile tea at night and green tea in the morning, steers clear of coffee and alcohol and anything that will make his anxiety worse. He works hard to keep his life the way it is. Plain and simple. Bucky Barnes is done having a difficult life, he works as a baker and cake decorator at a small corner bakery after completing culinary school thanks to his G.I. bill. He does well for himself and is even able to save money thanks to the disability he receives, not that he wouldn't love to have his left arm back.<br/>That being said, it doesn't mean that Bucky doesn't pay attention to what is going on around him, because he does. He just doesn't say anything, even when he begins to think maybe he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So this here is my first posted work on this site, that being said I may have missed something important in the tagging. If I did, please let me know!  
> This is basically a prequel, so it's pretty short I think. The idea came to me for some hurt Steve and it went from there, but I wanna use this to set up a background for a longer story.  
> Also, I don't have a beta, but I did go back over this to try to catch any errors so please let me know if I missed anything!

“ _Whose woods these are I think I know._

_His house is in the village though;_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow.”_

 

Bucky Barnes keeps to himself, he stays in his lane and doesn't toe any lines and that's how he likes to live his life. It keeps things simple. Clean. It's what he needs in his life after four years in the Army and a messy medical discharge. He drinks chamomile tea at night and green tea in the morning, steers clear of coffee and alcohol and anything that will make his anxiety worse. He works hard to keep his life the way it is. Plain and simple. Bucky Barnes is done having a difficult life, he works as a baker and cake decorator at a small corner bakery after completing culinary school thanks to his G.I. bill. He does well for himself and is even able to save money thanks to the disability he receives, not that he wouldn't love to have his left arm back.

That being said, it doesn't mean that Bucky doesn't pay attention to what is going on around him, because he does. He just doesn't say anything, even when he begins to think maybe he should.

 

The bakery had been flush today, so much so that Nat had been forced to make Bucky work the counter, which had drained him after being there before the sun was up and not sleeping well the night before.

His upstairs neighbors had been arguing, again.

When Bucky had moved into the apartment it was almost a week until he heard the muffled voices above him. He had hoped that maybe the couple was just in a rough patch. If they were it was the longest rough patch ever because he had lived in his new building for almost a year now. He had, for the most part, gotten good at ignoring the two people upstairs, but some nights when he was already high strung, the noises did nothing to help his jumpiness.

It had taken all his self control to let them be and not go yell at the two for keeping him, and likely half the complex, awake.

All was well now though, he was off work and almost home. He had nothing in the way of chores that he had to do today so the rest of the day was his to do as he pleased. There was some Netflix in his future.

When he got his mail he didn't even look twice at other man in the lobby with him (save for the fact he was built like a house) whose head was down, eyes to the floor.

Bucky would think with a body like that anyone would have confidence to spare, but maybe he had a shit face.

 

And Bucky didn't think anything of it when he saw the same man three days later at the mailboxes with a black eye, a guy like that was sure to get into a few scrapes he assumed.

He didn't think much except that his face wasn't shit, it was actually pretty great, but he pushed the thought away because part of his easy life involved not getting involved, even romantically (much to Nat's protests).

 

Bucky didn't think much of anything until the next week.

He was getting his mail after work, this being the fifth time that the beautiful blonde haired man was also getting his mail. The lobby was quiet until the front door opened as someone walked in and a gust of wind caught it, causing it to slam. That made Bucky's adrenaline spike a little, but he had a hold on himself, the same couldn't be said for the other man.

He dropped the mail he was holding and fell into a crouch, hands immediately coming up to cover his head, it was a move Bucky knew all too well. So he broke his number one rule.

“Hey buddy, you alright?” he asked tentatively, not moving closer, but crouching down to the man's level instead.

He was shaking slightly, hands still over his head.

“It was just the door pal, it's alright, you're safe man.” Bucky offered, making the man finally peak an eye out from behind his arm.

It was amazing how such a big man could make himself look so small.

Slowly, he untangled himself and stood back up, using the wall to steady himself.

“There ya go, all set. You good?” Bucky asked, not wanting to leave if he was going to fall back into an anxiety attack.

The dude just nodded slowly as Bucky stooped to pick up the guy's mail before handing it to him.

“Good, no harm done. See ya.”

And Bucky left.

 

When the arguing picked up that night Bucky maybe thought a little bit about the big man with his black eye, his downcast gaze, and how small he made himself.

But only a little.

 

“ _My little horse must think it queer_

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year.”_

 

Nat had been eyeing him weird all morning, which meant it was no surprise when he cornered him after the morning rush to ask:

“What the fuck is up with you?”

“Excuse me?” he shot back.

“You've been quiet today, usually you've got your weird techno music playing and shit, but today you're playing, I don't know what this is even.” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“It's electroswing Nat, not techo and-”

“No, one, stop right there. Electro-swing? What the fuck even is that?”

“Like electric and swing music.” he retorted.

“What kind of hipster fuck are you? Are you real?”

“Shut up.”

She stared at him for a few too many seconds.

“Stop it.” he bit out.

“Tell me what is going on. Also seriously, what are you listening to right now?”

“Debussy. And nothing is going on.”

That was a lie.

“Don't lie to me, I pay you.”

He glared at her.

“I don't know, there is something... off, about someone who lives in my building.”

“Off how?”

“I don't know and honestly I don't care.”

Another lie.

Nat let it slide this time, huffing loudly before leaving him be in the kitchen to sulk to classical music.

 

The guy was there again when Bucky stopped to get his mail after work, Bucky even sneaked a peak at the mailbox he was at.

It was for the apartment above his.

In the next moment there was a pair of feet thundering down the stairs, it put Bucky on edge, making his shoulders tense and his breath come quickly. He tried to tell himself that it was just some asshole coming down, that's all it was.

When he glanced over at the blond though his own anxiety felt like nothing to what he saw in the other man. He had a white knuckle grip on the mailbox door and was suddenly trying to damnedest to get his mail and get the fuck out of dodge.

The thundering feet finally came to the first landing and then the first flight of stairs, followed by a hard voice snapping:

“You gonna get the mail sometime today?”

Bucky tried to keep his eyes on his mail, pretend like he was reading over the few pieces he did have, but he couldn't help but let his gaze wander.

The guy that had snapped was standing on the last stair, arms crossed, he was slightly bigger than Bucky, but still not as solid looking as the blond. Who was now shaking as he closed the mailbox door, letting the faintest of apologies slip as he walked towards the other guy, shoulders hunched, drawing himself in.

The asshole made the blond go first up the stairs, but he didn't leave before leering in Bucky's direction. Bucky just smiled in return, masking the anger he was suddenly feeling.

Because, oh.

 

That night when the arguing, no, when the yelling started, because he somehow hadn't noticed that it was only ever one voice raised, he wasn't annoyed, he was hot with rage.

 

“So m'pretty sure there's domestic violence going on in my apartment.” Bucky said the next day with no preamble when Nat walked back to the kitchen.

She stopped dead.

“I'm sorry, what?” she snapped, turning sharply.

“Yeah. There's this guy, I've seen him getting the mail a few times, the guy I said was off right? Anyways, yesterday I was getting the mail again and he was there and then this jack off comes crashing down the stairs and snaps at him. The dude, mail dude, he starts shaking and shrinks in on himself. Plus there is always yelling above my apartment and from what mailbox he was at that has to be them.” he explained, getting progressively more violent with the dough he was kneading.

“That's a pretty serious accusation.” Natasha said, though not in any sort of way that might indicate she didn't agree with him.

“He had a black eye a week or so back too. I didn't really think of it 'cause he's so fucking huge, but after seeing that shit yesterday...” he trailed off.

“Are you going to say anything?”

Bucky thought hard on that one, “I, I really don't know. I probably should, maybe try to talk to the guy next time I see him at the mailbox, but I don't know how closely he's being watched, I don't wanna make it worse.”

“Maybe drop an anonymous tip to the cops.”

“That never works Nat, the cops are dumb, they get tricked into believing shit's alright.” he grumbled.

“You sound like you're talking from experience there Bucky.” she pressed.

“Yeah well, my Pa wasn't such a stand up guy if you have to know.”

And that was probably why he picked it up as quick as he did, because he saw too much of his mother in the scared blond man at the mailbox.

 

Who wasn't there that day.

 

Or the next.

 

Or the next.

 

It was a week before he saw the guy again and when he did run into him at the mailboxes his right arm was in a sling. Bucky had to stamp down the flare of rage that boiled in his gut.

“Shit man, you alright?” he asked, trying to put on his most nonchalant voice.

The guy just looked at him, like maybe he was wondering if Bucky was speaking to him, he even looked around the rest of the lobby.

“Yeah.” came his short, quiet reply.

“That's good I guess. Uh, my name's Bucky, I live on the third floor.”

He didn't really know what he was doing.

“Nice to meet you.” the other guy managed, his gaze looking anxiously to the stairs.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky started, closing his mailbox, “Hope your arm gets better.”

The blond only nodded, before disappearing up the stairs before Bucky could blink.

 

Bucky isn't sure if the silence above his apartment is a good thing or not, but he almost prefers the yelling to the eerie quiet.

 

The problem is that Bucky knows there isn't much he can do, because he sure as hell can't let on to the asshole that he knows something is up. That will just make it worse for the other man. Sadly, at the same time, he's not sure if the blond knows he's being abused. Bucky isn't sure if there is some hardcore co-dependency going on and whether or not the man will accept help if it was offered.

Not that Bucky would offer.

Because he minds his own business.

 

Usually.

 

The blond wasn't there the next day, but there was a piece of paper in his mailbox with Bucky's name written in neat scrawl.

He waited until he was back in his apartment to open it.

“Bucky,

Thank you for asking after me yesterday. I'm fine though, really. I can be a klutz and accidentally sprained my wrist after I fell. I also want to apologize about the other day, with the stairs. It was pretty obvious the stomping set you on edge. I don't mean to be rude, but I couldn't help notice your left arm, I'm guessing you're a veteran probably and loud noises are no good. Brock has a temper sometimes, hence the stomping. Anyways, I'm not entirely sure why I wrote this, it's just I'm not always so good with speaking to people, so this seemed easiest. Again, thanks.

Steve”

 

And oh, if Bucky wasn't up shit creek after that.

 

Bucky wasn't stupid enough to write back, he was even too paranoid to let the letter leave the confines of his bedside table. He wanted to though, write back, Bucky wanted to write back and tell Steve that he had an idea what was going on above his head now, that he noticed.

That Steve could come to him if he needed to.

But Bucky couldn't do that, because he had no idea just how much dependency there was in that relationship and he knew that if there were enough that Steve wouldn't believe Bucky if he told him he was being abused.

 

So he was at an dead end, all he could do was stay attentive and play the waiting game.

 

A week later Bucky was working the counter up front shortly after the breakfast rush, all his pastries were either done or in the oven so he opted to help Nat at the front since Clint was taking his break in the kitchen.

He had been straightening some flyers at the counter when two bodies walked up and he raised his head, having to keep himself from actually gasping when Steve and his asshole, boyfriend, whatever, were standing in front of him.

Brock, now that Bucky got a better look, was smaller than Steve in height, but only barely, he did look about forty pounds smaller in weight. The man was conventionally attractive and had what Bucky could only see as a possessive arm around Steve's middle.

And Steve, good God, he was smiling.

 

“Good morning, how can I help you two?” Bucky asked, plastering on his best customer service smile and doing his damnedest not to let on that he had any other connection to Steve than running into him in the lobby.

And while the two men in front of him didn't react in any abnormal way, Natasha took note in her own subtle way, so Bucky must have sounded off, but only to a trained ear.

“I'm gonna have a plain coffee, black.” Brock answered first, before glancing to Steve, “What're you getting baby?”

Bucky tried not to vomit.

“A latte please.” he started, before looking to the pastry display. “And um, what would you recommend, something sweet?”

Nat cut in before Bucky could say anything, “Don't ask him, he makes it all, so he's no use to recommend anything.” she teased, perfectly easing her way into the situation.

Steve looked to Bucky then, his eyes lighting up, “You made all of that?”

Bucky just shrugged, “Yup.”

“Ok then, which is the most fun to make?”

“The petite fours.” he answered, without having the think.

“They're two for a dollar.” Nat piped in, elbows on the counter.

“I'll have four then, please.” Steve said, before turning to Brock, “That's OK, right?”

“Course.” was the short reply, Brock had fixed Bucky with a look, his eyes falling to his left arm.

Bucky geared himself up.

“Must be hard, doing all that intricate work with that thing?” he asked, pulling out his wallet as Bucky rang them up.

Steve's eyes got wide, but he didn't say anything.

“Nah, not really. I've got pretty great fine motor control in both of my arms.” Bucky said, keeping his cool.

He knew that Brock was pointing it out in hopes of embarrassing him or making him feel bad and a year ago it probably would have, but not anymore.

“That'll be eight eighty. We'll bring your coffees over in a moment.” he said, as Nat set the plate of petite fours on the counter for Steve.

“I guess you're pretty lucky then, huh?” Brock pushed, handing his card over.

Bucky swiped it and let the transaction run through, sliding the receipt and card back.

“As lucky as a guy who got his arm blown off can be I guess.”

Brock fixed that look on him again, Bucky couldn't quite read it, but he didn't like it. He watched as Brock slashed through the tip part of the receipt and sneered as he started to pull Steve away.

The blond mouthed “sorry” at Bucky as he was yanked away and somehow managed to shove a couple of dollars in the tip jar.

 

Nat had moved to start the coffees and since there were no other customers, Bucky joined her at the machine, peering over it to where the two men were sitting.

“Even if it hadn't been perfectly obvious who those two were I would think that guy was a dick.” Natasha mumbled as she packed the grounds.

“I think he just doesn't like me because I saw what happened the other week.”

“Steve is brave to have written that letter. He could have said nothing.” she went on.

“Yeah well, I was trying not to see it as him reaching out, but it's hard not to.”

“I think the most you can do is be supportive from afar.”

“I'm maintaining an attentive distance.”

She just nodded, putting her focus back into the coffees as Bucky slipped into the kitchen to send Clint back from his break.

He tried not to think about the blond man sitting in the other room.

 

“ _He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake_

_The only other sound's the sweep_

_Of easy wind and downy flake.”_

 

There was yelling that night and it kept Bucky up with the thought that maybe he had stared too long, maybe he had smiled to big at Steve, who was now paying the price.

It had started up earlier than usual, Bucky hadn't even settled into bed when he heard the muffled voice up above.

He tried to ignore the noises as he got ready for bed, but just as he was about to climb under the covers there was a crash from upstairs.

There had never been a crash.

Bucky stilled, barely breathing as he tried to listen.

Another crash had him reaching for the nine millimeter pistol he kept holstered between his bed and side table. It was more from anxiety than the thought he might actually use it.

A loud thud made him jump and then the sound of the upstairs apartment's door being wrenched open and slammed had Bucky moving to his own door.

He opened it a crack and was glad once more that he could see the stairwell from it. Bucky wasn't sure just who it was that was clamoring down the stairs, so he kept the pistol hidden behind the door jamb as he peered out.

When Steve stumbled onto the landing, Bucky was first relieved, but only for a moment, because it was obvious something was wrong. He tucked the firearm in the back of his sleep pants, pulling his shirt over it and stepped out into the hall.

“Steve, you alright?” he asked, moving slowly toward the other man, who looked at him with wide eyes.

Steve collapsed onto the first stair, his eyes darting around in a panic, Bucky noticed his chest heaving, it didn't look like he was getting productive breaths in.

He dropped to his knees in front of Steve and went to push him to sit up before thinking better of it.

“You gotta sit up straight Steve, try to calm down, take nice deep breaths.” he urged.

Steve looked at him and shook his head, he couldn't manage to speak though, so he started tapping on his chest and shaking his head.

“You can't breath? I got that pal, that's why you gotta sit up, I think you're having an anxiety attack.”

Steve just kept shaking his head before making a gesture with his hands that looked like he was trying to use an inhaler.

“Asthma attack?”

He nodded.

“Where is your inhaler Steve?”

He looked up the stairs with wide eyes.

Bucky had to count backwards from five to keep himself from storming up the stairs.

Unfortunately, it seemed Brock was coming to then, based off the sound of a door opening violently before the sound of him crashing down the stairs broke through the air.

The look of panic that overtook Steve made Bucky want to cry, instead of panicking he just motioned to Steve to stand up.

“Do you want to go back up there with him?” Bucky asked and could have cheered when Steve shook his head so hard he might have hurt himself.

He was still sucking in small breaths, his lips taking on a pale hue.

“Stay behind me then, don't worry.” he instructed, feeling rather weird to be taking such a protective stance over so large a man.

Brock was there in a flash, eyes wild, lip split.

Bucky was so proud in that moment, Steve had obviously fought back.

“Steve, baby, I brought your inhaler, come back, stop this nonsense.” Brock said, voice even as he looked past Bucky.

“Give him his inhaler you fuck.” Bucky snapped, glaring up the stairs.

“Stay out of this cripple.”

And oh, if Bucky didn't want to show him just how much of a cripple he was, he would take his fucking metal arm off and beat the man to death with it.

“If something happens to him because you won't give him his inhaler I am one hundred percent sure you would be held responsible for it.”

“Oh yeah, like he would testify against me. It's not like any one would believe a crazy vet over someone like me. Steve, get the fuck over here. Now.”

Steve tensed behind Bucky, almost like he was going to comply, and that pushed Bucky over the edge.

In one smooth motion he had the pistol in hand, pointed steadily up the stairs at Brock.

“What the fuck?!” Brock hissed, terror overtaking his face.

“You're right man, I am just a crazy vet. A crazy vet with PTSD, who would probably get off on insanity if I shot and killed a man in a war flashback because he was stomping around my apartment floor. At worse they would put me in a psych ward and let me tell you, that would be heaven compared to the shit places I've been in my lifetime. So why don't you give me Steve's inhaler and get your sorry ass back upstairs.”

Brock dropped the inhaler and was turning tail before Bucky could even count to four, once he was out of sight he shoved the gun back into his pants and darted for the inhaler, pressing it into Steve's blue fingered hands.

Steve just gaped at him.

“I never even took the safety off, I wasn't gonna hurt him Steve, I had to scare him, I had to get your inhaler.” he promised, “Come on, use your inhaler, please.”

He did, taking as big a breath as he could manage as he dispensed the medication, though his eyes kept darting to the stairs.

“Do you want to come in? I'm not gonna force you, but you'd be safe, I promise. I swear he won't get near you again.”

Steve nodded and Bucky motioned for him to go first into the apartment.

 

When they were inside he locked all four of the locks he had and turned to examine Steve, who seemed to be able to suck in bigger breaths now.

“The couch is through there, I'm going to grab you some water OK? I'm just going into the kitchen, go sit.”

Bucky got a tall glass and filled in before thinking about it and grabbing a towel to wet with cool water along with a trash bag, just in case. He walked to the living room where Steve was sitting, his chest finally rising and falling enough that it made Bucky more comfortable.

Steve took another hit from the inhaler as Bucky set down the glass and stood near him.

“Is it alright if I sit next to you?”

Steve nodded.

He sat, leaving plenty of room in between the two of them, as Steve seemed to be able to breath easy again. It didn't take long for him to start hyperventilating though, now that he could take normal breaths.

“Steve, hey, try to take some deep breaths okay?” Bucky tried.

Steve wouldn't look at him, he had his eyes on the floor and his breathing was still erratic.

“Steve, look at me, please.”

Bucky was surprised when Steve actually did so.

“There ya go pal, you gotta breath deep Steve, you're gonna make yourself pass out. Please, just try to breath with me.” he encouraged.

He started doing the deep breathing he had been taught for his own panic attacks, counting out the breaths as he did. It took a minute, but Steve started to follow along.

Finally Steve calmed down, sagging against the back of the couch. Bucky picked up the glass of water, “Try to drink a little.”

When Steve sat forward to take the glass Bucky picked up the cool towel.

“I'm gonna lay this across the back of your neck, is that OK?” he asked.

Steve nodded, taking a large pull of water.

“Slow with that, you don't wanna make yourself sick.”

The larger man let out a sigh as Bucky laid the cloth across the back of his neck, this was a trick Bucky had used a lot when he first got back, the cool temperature helped to ground him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Steve finished the water, Bucky took the empty glass and went to refill it. When he returned he asked:

“Do you have someplace to go?”

Steve whipped his head around so fast Bucky was afraid he had hurt himself, the man's eyes were wide, panic spreading across his face.

“No, Steve, no, I'm not kicking you out, I'm not saying you can't stay here. I'm just wondering if there is someplace else you want to go.” Bucky amended quickly, relief flooding Steve's face as he spoke.

“There isn't. I mean, I don't... he didn't. I don't have any friends.” Steve managed, dropping his gaze back to the floor as Bucky sat again.

Steve went right for the water as soon as Bucky set it down.

“That's fine. It's no problem, you can stay here. You're safe here, I meant what I said Steve, I won't let him touch you again. He won't even get near you, I swear it.”

“Bucky, why are you... You barely know me, why help me?” Steve asked, his face an open book as he peered at Bucky.

“M'not sure Stevie, but I knew the first time I realized what was going on that I would help you if you ever wanted it. No questions asked.”

He couldn't tell Steve that he had once waited too long, that this was his way of repaying his mother for not helping her soon enough.

Steve put the again empty glass on the table and curled into himself, drawing his knees to his chest, Bucky was in awe still how small he could make himself look.

“I can't believe how stupid I've been.” he choked.

“Steve, no, don't do that to yourself.” Bucky pleaded.

“I was though! I knew, I knew our relationship wasn't right, but I... He made me feel like I couldn't do anything without him. I still feel like that. I'm so scared right now.”

Bucky wanted nothing more than to wrap the man up in a blanket and never let him go, but he wasn't sure touch was what Steve needed, wasn't sure how he would respond to it.

“He was manipulating you Steve, none of it was, is your fault. I know you don't think that right now, but it's the truth.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his eyes bloodshot, lip trembling.

“What am I going to do now? He has all my stuff all my, oh God! He's going to destroy all my art supplies Bucky!”

He actually started crying then, big fat tears broke from his eyes to slid down his pink tinged cheeks.

“Steve come on, please, you're going to have another asthma attack like this.” Bucky soothed, moving a little closer but still not touching Steve.

“Bucky, it's the only thing I'm good at, I can't afford more supplies right now, he's going to destroy all of it. I have work up there, pieces people are paying me for and he's going to wreck them, I know it.”

“Hey now, those are just things alright? They can be replaced, you can redo the pieces, I'm sure your clients would understand Steve. All that matters is you're safe.”

And God if Bucky wasn't shit at this, he didn't know how to comfort people, but he wanted so desperately to help Steve, he wished he could just make his pain go away, but it wasn't that simple.

Steve wiped at is eyes, taking in a shuddering breath as he tried to calm down.

“We'll figure out how to get some of your things Steve, in the morning, even if I have to go to the police OK? Tonight though, try not to worry about it, I know it's hard, I don't expect you to forget or act like none of this happened, but... Let's just try to relax for now, are you hungry? Do you want to shower? Sleep?”

Steve seemed to think for a moment.

“A shower actually sounds amazing.” he mumbled before adding, “If I can?”

“You don't have to ask here Stevie, just tell me what you _want_ and you'll get it. Unless you tell me you want to go back to him, that's the one thing I won't give you.”

“I... yeah, I want a shower. Please. And I am hungry too.” he added bashfully.

“Alright then.” Bucky said, slapping his thighs before standing up.

Steve flinched back into the couch at the noise, a blush rising to his cheeks when he realized what he did.

“Sorry Bucky.”

“No. Don't apologize. Steve... You know I won't, I would never hurt you OK? I hope you know that.” Bucky said, looking down at Steve.

“I know Bucky. I do. It's just, hard.” he sighed.

“Steve, I get it, trust me. I didn't leave my apartment for weeks when I moved in, I was so scared I would have a flashback or something in the street. Seriously, I understand.”

Steve just sighed, his eyes falling on Bucky's left arm, “I'm so stupid, sitting here like this because my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend is an ass when you actually dealt with something real.”

“NO.” Bucky snapped, “Steve, do not compare us, what happened to you is no less real or traumatizing. Never compare your trauma to someone else's. I learned that when I came back. It's important not to do that.” he went on, smoothing his tone out.

Steve nodded, standing slowly when Bucky motioned for him to follow him.

 

The only bathroom in his apartment was attached to the bedroom, Bucky left Steve to start the shower on his own while he tried to find some clothes that might fit him. His waist seemed like it might be the same size as Bucky's, but his chest and arms were way bigger. It was lucky Bucky loved having large shirts to sleep in sometimes, he found one and a pair of sleep pants that were a size too big.

“I think these should fit alright.” he said, leaving them on the counter in the bathroom.

“Thank you Bucky, for everything.”

“It's no problem Steve, I promise. I'm gonna make some food for us, holler if you need anything.”

Steve just nodded in response, so Bucky left him to it, heading back out into the kitchen.

 

He started water to boil on the stove, finding spaghetti noodles and Alfredo sauce before pulling out his phone and dialing Nat.

“What?” was Nat's reply when she picked up after the third ring.

“I need to call out tomorrow, I know it's last minute, Darcy owes me though.” he retorted.

“Are you alright?” she asked, suddenly genuinely concerned.

“Steve is here.”

The line was silent.

“What happened?” she asked after a minute.

“Not really sure, I heard them like usual but this time it seems like Steve fought back maybe. He left and was coming down the stairs when I went out to see what was going on. Brock was withholding his inhaler from him and Steve was having an asthma attack.”

“Is he OK?”

“I got the inhaler back. He's... distraught, is all I'll say. He's taking a shower right now, but I don't want to leave him here alone in the morning.”

“Is Brock alive?”

“Yes.” he said curtly.

“Did you hit him?”

“No.”

“Bucky...” she pressed.

“I might have threatened him with a gun.” he mumbled.

“Holy shit! What if he calls the cops Bucky?”

“I highly doubt he will, even so, I'm a combat vet with PTSD, they'd give me verbal at best.”

She sighed on the other side of line.

“I'll call Darcy, take care of him alright?

“I'm making food now. He's safe here. We'll figure this out.” Bucky assured her, before begging off and ending the call.

 

Steve emerged right as Bucky was straining the noodles, his hair was damp and sticking up all over the place. The clothes vaguely fit him at least and he looked a little better.

“It's nothing fancy, just spaghetti.” he said as Steve sat at the small table.

“Anything would be good right now. I feel famished.” he mumbled.

“Yeah, stress can drain you quick.” Bucky said, setting a plate and more water in front of Steve.

He sat with his own food and waited for Steve to start before he touched his; they ate in silence, Steve only mentioning the food was good after a bite or two.

When they finished Bucky cleaned up while Steve sat at the table, staring at it quietly.

 

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked once he was finished cleaning.

Steve just shrugged, looking across the kitchen at Bucky.

“What do you want to do? Sleep?”

“No. I don't think I'd be able to right now.”

Bucky understood that, he was sure if he tried to sleep right now he would have his own issues after having to confront Brock.

“Okay. So what would you like?” he prompted.

Bucky didn't know the inner workings of how things had been with Brock, but he could assume that there was a lot of controlling going on there. Steve was probably used to having to ask for everything, so Bucky wanted him to voice what he _wanted_ , not ask.

“Can we... um, I wouldn't mind watching TV.” he mumbled.

“Awesome, lets do that then.” Bucky said, with a smile.

 

Bucky had pulled the blankets off of his bed and even found the extras he had for the occasional guest. They all got piled on the couch, the two of them making a nest, close, but not quite touching. Steve was given the controller so he could pick what they watched.

“Have you ever watched Archer?” Steve asked, moving through the Netflix menu.

“Nope, can't say I have.”

“It's pretty funny. I like it, watched it a lot when Brock was at work.” Steve said, drawing his eyebrows together. “Sorry I keep talking about him. I don't, really have anything else, anyone else, to talk about.”

“Steve, you can talk or not talk about whatever you want.” Bucky urged as Steve started an episode.

 

They were three episodes in when Bucky looked over to see Steve crying again, he was wrapped up in Bucky's blankets, trying to quietly cry.

“Steve.” Bucky said, making the man jump and quickly wipe at the tears.

“Sorry, m'sorry.” he said quickly.

“No, Steve, I was going to say you can cry if you want. You don't have to hide it, I'm not going to get mad.”

Steve let go at that, openly sobbing into the blanket, sucking in large breaths. Bucky felt his heart sink, he wanted to pull Steve against him and sooth him, but he wasn't sure where the boundaries were here. The larger man made a move like he was going to try to hug Bucky, but seemed to abort the plan, drawing his knees up again.

“Steve, talk to me. Is there anything I can do? What do you need?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“I don't, I don't know. I don't know Bucky.” he sobbed into his knees.

“Okay, that's okay. Is it alright, can I rub your back? I know that used to help me, I'm not sure what to go off of here except what helped me.” he tried.

Steve seemed to think for a moment before nodding his head.

“Please, can you tell me? Yes or no? Is it alright?”

“Yes.”

Bucky moved slow, but Steve still tensed up when he placed a hand on the man's large back, he relaxed after a moment of Bucky rubbing large circles across his shoulders. Steve continued to cry, though he did stop sobbing, instead he was just heaving every few minutes through the tears.

It was going to be a long night.

 

Bucky woke up to a solid weight across his chest, he looked down to a vision full of blond. Steve was sprawled over him, the two of them having passed out on the couch. It was past morning judging by the light streaming into the living room.

“Steve.” Bucky quietly urged, nudging the man.

He woke with a start, looking around the room in daze.

“Come on, let's move you to the bed, you can go back to sleep.”

Steve went with little protest, dragging a set of blankets with him to Bucky's room, he passed out again as soon as he was settled.

Bucky looked at the clock, it was past nine, hopefully Steve would sleep a few more hours.

 

He was in front of Brock's door before he even really knew what he was doing, unsure if he hoped Brock would be home or not.

He was.

Brock sneered, “What the ever loving fuck do you want?” he hissed.

“Where is Steve's stuff?” Bucky spat.

Brock crossed his arms.

“Don't think I won't call the fucking cops if you try to threaten me again.”

“Shut the fuck up, I wish you would call the cops you fuck, I don't need a gun to fuck you up.”

“You're a psycho.”

“So fucking what? I'm a saint next to you, you piece of shit.”

There was no way he was going to get Steve's shit this way.

“Get the whore's shit and get the fuck out of my face.” Brock barked, stepping aside.

A small mountain of things were piled by the front door, Bucky couldn't help but think of small miracles. It even looked like Steve's art was in tact.

Bucky wordlessly grabbed everything, not shrinking under Brock's venomous stare.

“Enjoy him, he's pretty pliant once you break him down.” Brock laughed once Bucky was out of the apartment.

He used all his self restraint not to strangle the fucker, deciding the violence would do no good in this situation, as much as he wanted to separate Brock from his spine.

“Enjoy your pathetic existence,” Bucky ground out, seething as he wrestled Steve's things down to his own place.

 

Steve cried again when he finally wandered into the living room around two that afternoon, he sank to the floor upon seeing his belongings and held Bucky so tight his bones creaked.

 

It only took a week for Bucky to realize that Steve staying with him wasn't good, it wasn't good for Steve's recovery.

Bucky saw too much dependency developing in that first week alone, Steve was falling away from telling Bucky he wanted things. He started asking all the time and sitting around, barely doing more than the work he had to do. The last thing Bucky wanted to do was kick Steve out, but things couldn't continue this way, Steve needed treatment, he needed therapy, he needed more than Bucky could provide.

 

“Family?” Steve asked, looking across the table at Bucky.

“Yeah, Steve, family. I don't mean to be rude, but do you have any?” he asked again.

A look of betrayal flooded Steve's face.

“I have an aunt, she lives in Maine.” he mumbled.

“Steve, I think... It might be best if you try to stay with her.” Bucky ventured, his heart hurting when Steve sucked in a shuddering breath.

“You don't, you don't want me here?” Steve asked, eyes misting over.

Bucky moved from his chair to crouch on the floor in front of Steve, taking both of his hands in his own, causing the man to turn to face him, though he wouldn't look at him.

“Steve, please, can you please look at me?” he asked.

Steve did, his lip trembling.

“It's not that I don't want you here Stevie, I promise. I'd love nothing more than to keep you here where I know you're safe, but this isn't good for you Steve. You can't recover here like this, so close to him. You need, you should see someone, a professional. Someone who can help you recover from this trauma, because that's what it is. You're, falling back into a pattern here and it makes me sick to my stomach to see you acting the way you do around me. I swear to God Steve, that the last thing I want is for you to leave, but I think it's what will be best for you. You have to learn how to be yourself again, without my influence, without his shadow hanging over you.”

Bucky tried to keep his voice even, he tried to convey to Steve how important it was for him to recover. He needed Steve to know that he wasn't kicking him out, but trying to help him get better.

Steve was crying silently, those fat tears of his crawling down his cheeks.

“I want to stay here with you Buck. You tell me to tell you what I want and that's it. I want to stay here.” he cried.

It was so hard, Bucky had to fight back his own tears, biting back the urge to give into what Steve wanted, to draw him in and keep him close and never let him go.

“I want that too Steve, God I do, but right now we have to see past what we want to see what we need. What you need. Stevie, don't you want to get better?” he asked, pushing Steve's hair off of his forehead.

Steve nodded.

“I want to feel useful. I'm trying to be useful to you Buck, so you won't make me leave, but you are anyways.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, because shit, he was in so deep.

“Steve, you don't need to be useful to me. You're not a tool or an object for me to use. You're a person, one I care a lot about and I can't stand to see you like this with me. Do you understand that? This isn't healthy for either one of us. I'm not pushing you away, I'm not saying I never want to see you again. I'm saying that I want you to be healthy and you're not here, not now. You can see that, can't you? The way this is right now, I'm not shaping out to be much better than Brock, can't you understand what that is doing to me?” he pleaded.

Steve shook his head, “You're nothing like him!” he shouted, before recoiling. “You're not Bucky, you're so nice to me, you don't yell or hit me or, or anything.”

“Steve, why do you want to please me so much?”

“I want you to be happy, you helped me so much Bucky, you saved me. I owe it to you.”

“I'm not happy like this Steve.” he said, regretting it instantly when Steve let out a sob. “You say you owe me, right?”

He hated every God damned second of this.

Steve nodded.

“Okay, you can pay me back by getting better. If you feel like you can't, or don't want to do it for yourself then can you do it for me?”

Steve stared at him, eyes red, cheeks pink, lip trembling, Bucky hurt to see such a big man look so small, so defeated.

“Stevie, can you do that?” he pressed.

“Yes.” Steve answered quietly. “I can, for you.”

“Thank you Steve.” Bucky breathed, closing his eyes against the tears that still threatened to spill forth, he hoped that eventually Steve would want to get better for his own self, but if this was how it had to be for now then so be it.

“I promise this isn't the end okay? It's only the beginning. You'll see Steve.” he vowed.

And God, poor Steve, he looked so scared sitting there, nodding vehemently, silently steeling himself to his fate.

 

“ _The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd obviously love comments and any constructive criticism.  
> Please let me know what you think!  
> The poem interjected throughout is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost.


End file.
